SO THIS IS NIGER

Donelly Lakes - A Shortcut to Solitude

I have been to many places on the globe but nothing beats the magic of a secluded destination where kangaroo and emus say ‘Good Night’ to each other.

Most of my life I spend in big cities all over the world but from time to time l need to get away entirely. I am sure you know know what I mean.

What could be better than sipping a glass of wine and smoking cigarettes and talk to your nearest and dearest about everything and nothing, drifting from topic to topic with a sort of divine detachment?

And what could possibly be more pleasure than to awake in the early mornings of your secret hide-away to the ringing voices of parrots, the wailing caw of the Australian raven and other assorted cries, tweets, chirps of a multitude of avian life. 

Last week I felt the need for a “time-out” and went to Donnelly Lakes for a few days. The secluded resort is hidden amongst the Karri Forest near the historic timber town of Pemberton in a sparsly populated area in the Southwest of Western Australia. About five hour's drive from Perth and cut off from annoying telephone calls, and with neither TV reception nor Internet connection it may as well be in the middle of nowhere.

To my daughter a stay in Donnelly Lakes means lounging on a veranda, soaking in a hot spa with a glass of wine and a book in hand, and jogging in the evening to stay fit and trim. For a lazy bone like me the exercise is much reduced to short brisks walks after dinner.

It is here in Western Australia's South West where I do what I really love to do: curl up with a book in the shade of a peppermint tree, go bush-walking, bird-watching or idly sit in the early evening for an hour in a hideout watching kangaroos.

So I watched and photographed brightly-coloured parrots, butterflies and kangaroos, walked along wildflower-lined trails along the river cut through thick, eucalyptus-scented bush land.

One day we drove to the National Park where I watched my daughter climbing up a 60 m Karri tree and I, suffering from vertigo envied her the stunning bird-eye views over the green and golden tree tops over miles and miles of surrounding forests.

Enjoying a cup of 'early morning tea' was another of my favorite past time, doing nothing more than watching a bold bunch of cobald blue fairy wrens fly onto our veranda to perch on chairs or to pick at bird seeds I have sprinkled on the ground.

There were also a few audacious Pacific black ducks that wandered up from the lake to our chalet and pestered us for food. Down on the like shore we could see ibis and herons fish and catch insects, but not only birds of the feathered kind were trying to catch a fish for breakfast.

''Last week one of our guests caught a seven pound trout,'' said the manager of the resort to my daughter, who shortly after our arrival trailed off towards the lake with a fishing rod. We tried every day to catch trout, but for a few nibbles we never caught any.

Donnelly  wasn't always like this. Ten years ago the land was still a working sheep station with little regard for native animals or thought towards conservation of native flora and fauna. The owners, Renata and John have truly turned the former farm into a sanctuary for a multitude of native animals and plants.

Here by the river the sounds and commotion of the outside world became a distant memory.

 

Posted by: Lewana at February 18, 2006 22:32 | link | comments (14)
australia, donelly lakes

By the Frangipani Tree

When you return home to the people and place you love, does not your heart beat faster with excitement and joy? Mine does as we approach Fremantle Harbour and when a few minutes later I catch the first glimpse of Leighton Beach .

 Everything is as I remembered it: the beach is as creamy white and the ocean as turquoise with surfers riding the foamy waves under a deep blue sky. Suntanned cyclists, their legs muscular and shaved, are zooming along the highway and a few joggers with their dogs are capering along the ocean’s edge. Everyone is enjoying the early afternoon sea breeze, locally known as the “Fremantle Doctor” on a Sunday afternoon.

“The Matilda Bay Brewery has been taken over by Foster’s,” my son says as we turn off Stirling Highway , past the yeasty brewery's odour mingling with the tangy ocean air, towards our home; “but Dad won’t mind, Matilda Bay Bitter itself won't change."

 

No, my village has not changed since I closed my garden gate behind me last August. Some cottages have been renovated; a few others have a “For Sale” sign out the front. But our peppermint tree lined street is as shady and serenely green as it has been when we moved into our cottage a decade ago.

All over my neighbourhood roses grow with a weed’s persistence, white and pink frangipani trees scent the air with their delicious fragrance, and countless clumps of blue and white agapanthus poke their mob heads through white picket fences. Flowering honeysuckle vines are climbing up shady verandas, filling me with happiness.

My kids unload my luggage as I flop down on my favourite garden chair in the shade of the veranda. Even though it is the height of summer in Western Australia , this year our backyard garden is green and lush despite our restricted watering regime, full of birds, butterflies and insects.

A flock of green, ring-neck parrots called ‘twenty eights’ because of the sound of their call and dozens of pink cockatoos, screeching loudly, backlit by the setting sun, are returning home for the night to the big white gum tree in my neighbour’s backyard.

Vaguely I notice that the pansies I planted shortly before I left for Karachi have disappeared and that weeds have invaded my veggie patch with a vengeance. A pumpkin vine must have sprouted from a seed that survived my compost bin. A large pale green and ridged iron bark pumpkin sits in the middle of the weeds, so glorious that it serves as a consolation for all the dead perennials I grew over the years from seeds and cuttings before my departure to the subcontinent.

“The garden and lawn are unusually verdant for this time of the year”. I say to my daughter. “Has the ‘twice the week’ watering schedule been lifted? “You wish,” Helen says. “We've been lucky. Perth received a lot of rain lately thanks to the tail end of the typhoon Claire last week. Best of all, the West Australian has stopped printing the stats of the low watermark of our Mundaring Weir. That can only mean that our dams are refilling and that the drinking water shortage is not as serious as it had been a year ago.”

 “Glass of wine, mum?” my son asks me. Yes, and where would you like to go for dinner?, my daughter exclaims, her eyes lightening up at the thought of exchanging a family meal off the backyard barbeque for a Fisherman’s platter in Joe’s Fish pub in Fremantle .

No, my kids haven’t changed. They sure know of the places where one simply has to be. And I prepare myself for a buzzing crowd, a band and a late night.

It is good to be home.

Posted by: Lewana at February 03, 2006 20:18 | link | comments (16)
australia, by the frangipani tree